X-Men: Noir
by RedRogue
Summary: The year is 1940 in the city of Westchester, New York. It is a time of fear and war, and in this particular city, there is tyranny and a whole other kind of war against its kingpin, Don Eric Magnus. All citizens submit to mafia rule, or end up dead. The people look anywhere they can for hope: the law, the press, even vigilantes. Remy/Rogue some Logan/Jean Kitty/Piotr
1. Chapter 1

**X-Men: Noir**

The year is 1940 in the city of Westchester, New York. It is a time of fear and war, and in this particular city, there is tyranny and a whole other kind of war against its kingpin, Don Eric Magnus. All citizens submit to rule, or end up eventually dead. To fight is to commit suicide. The people look anywhere they can for hope: the law, the press, even vigilantes. It is all, thus far, to no avail, for Eric's shadow is vast.

Fade in.

The scene through the window paints a serene skyline of the calm night city, with the horizontal blinds cutting into the view, shadowing stripes of light and dark through the entire room. Only a small lamp glows in the dark room, with a massive wooden desk catering to a single, broad-shouldered man. There is a gloomy feeling in the air, a storm on the horizon, and the stress of this makes the muscular individual rub his head. He scratched his mutton-chops, opened a drawer beside him to pull out a cigar and light, and after a deep inhale, gave out a sigh.

He slaps down the newspaper he had been reading, with a bold headline about a hero cop, the "Man that Won't Die", right above an article about a professor winning the Nobel for a second time, and how high crime rates have risen in the city. Beside the headline is a picture of himself, which he abhors to the point of dabbing a burning hole into his face. This article, published by a pushy reporter named Jean Grey, has cost him his job. Jean not only knew him, but was fond of him, and thought she was doing him a favor by glorifying him publicly. She didn't know he wasn't supposed to even be at that warehouse to begin with, that he had been give specific orders not to, that he was already on thin ice with his boss. It was like the girl was psychic, always knowing where the action was, were he was going to go next, what he was thinking...

In the past, he liked to pretend that the media response was the real encouragement to throw himself into the middle of a gunfight, that he jumped ahead into the fray for the attention. But this expose' had ruined all that, painting him as he truly was… A trouble seeker, a gung ho warrior for violence, badgering witnesses, antagonizing criminals, purposefully getting in the mafia's bad graces…

She knew, and now the rest of the world did too, that it was the heat of the battle, that imminent danger of really and truly dying, where he felt most alive.

He abruptly put the paper down when he heard the door open. It was a younger man, with a dark brown trench coat reached down far to the floor and a wide brim fedora always seeming to cover most of his face. Remy, his partner, an ex-street thief with a knack for undercover work. It took a long time for Logan to trust him as a partner, and the fact remained that he still didn't quite trust him, what, with his record…. but the blinding truth was Remy always had his back just in time and was good at his job, as far as Logan could tell.

Remy was about the opposite of himself in appearance: taller, leaner, more handsome, and definitely more congenial, especially when it came to women. Logan wished the papers had picked Remy instead, God knows he had the face for the media attention. They could've made him look like a real hero, like the Goddamned bachelor of the year. He wished every day that those story-hungry pencil pushers were putting someone else in the spotlight.

"Logan," he said, thick with the accent of France. He was a mascot of Cajuns, his Louisiana upbringing deeply rooted to his very core, most evident every time he spoke. "It is very late, _mon_ _ami_."

He knew what that meant. Time for Logan to leave the office and for suspension to commence. He snatched up his briefcase and angrily stormed out, without so much as a goodbye. But Remy was not offended by this, no, he knew him all too well for that.

"Wait," Remy called after his friend. He took a small box out of the inside of his coat, and held it out to Logan graciously. "A small gift, for what you did for me back at the warehouse."

"You mean saving your ass for the eighth time?"

"By my count, seven, but yes."

Logan opened the small wooden box and saw a very thick, very expensive cigar awaiting him inside. Something to ease the pain during the boring uneventful days surely to come. It was a pity gift, one that he would gladly accept, but feel no need to be outwardly thankful for.

"I'm getting a drink," Logan said instead. There was a bar just across the street that they made regular appearances at after shifts. "Remember to turn out the lights when you close up."

Remy nodded assuredly and turned to go.

"Oh, and Remy…" Logan called after him. Remy paused to glance back at his comrade. "Try to get some actual work done around here, would ya? And not the kind of work you _usually _do."

Remy smiled and shook his head.

"Why, Logan. Whatever do you mean…?"

Later that night, back inside the office, Remy reached out a hand to very shapely woman's leg on his desk, stroking it upward and followed the line up to her pale hips. He brought a match to the cigarette in his mouth, and flicked the match in his fingers until it went out. He let out a smoky sigh, as he smiled at the brunette, who showed her teeth as she smiled back, stealing the cigarette from his lips and bringing it to her own. As they shared a glance of common, blissful knowledge, she let the cloud of smoke drift from her lips.

"Always a pleasure, Genevieve," Remy passed a nod in her direction. "Oh, and do remind me next time you're here to place you undah arrest."

She took the hint, and grabbed for her shirt, taking her time to put it on over her exposed lavender bra.

"Sounds like a date," she replied with a wink. She smiled again, and was encouraged to come back for one more kiss. She made it count, knowing she had to try hard to be remembered among the list of women that wanted him. Then she grabbed her coat, gave him a lingering glance, and took her leave.

As the door closed after her, Remy sighed again, louder this time. It was the middle of the night now, and he hadn't even begun his paperwork. It was a typical procrastinator's tale, really. There were too many cases that needed solving, too many cases bound together by the same group of people, with no real evidence to convict any one of them. It was the most frustrating thing to see, not to mention most unmotivating. Plus, flashes of the sweat and pleasure that had just happened not moments before were very hard to ward off in his train of thoughts, if only for the memories of another certain woman they ensued.

Maybe it was time to call it a night. Everyone else here had long since gone home. In his fatigue, thoughts trailed off too much beyond his control.

His eyes became glued to the warehouse in the black and white photo on the flat surface of the desk before him. Logan had swore this warehouse was vital to their case, but upon investigation, they had found it deserted and empty, with only incriminating gunfire and a standoff with the mob to surround it. It was obvious they were protecting something, but what? It didn't make any sense.

He heard the door open and it hit him like a swift kick in the nuts. That scent, like mountain springs and wildflowers, a bold breath of fresh air. The distinct clack of a heel much too high for an honorable woman. Definitely not the same woman that has just left. He let his eyes take their time with the first look upon that green satin dress, tight in all the right places to hold all her charms at bay like a perfect tease. A fur-lined collar that rubs against her pale cheeks. A crooked brimmed, netted hat hid away most of her most likely spectacular facial features, except for a pair of ruby lips, wonderfully rosette in color and texture.

She was perfect. A little too perfect.

Remy leaned back in his chair. He knew the mob picked up and hid away only their most magnificent women for secret weapons, for moments just like this one. And boy, was she a lovely distraction. She showed too much breathtaking leg, too much fantastic cleavage, to be here for anything but foul play.

She looked up at Remy, and showed her young face, her pure porcelain skin, her emerald eyes, and a snowy blonde streak in her otherwise auburn head of hair. A very distinguishable stripe, that one does not soon forget.

That was when he recognized her, and a flood of memories swarmed over him.

He had been new in town once, a stranger that transferred in from another bureau. He knew no one, had no friends. On his first lonely night in this new city, he had unwittingly wandered into a bad part of town. Crimes happening in plain sight, decaying buildings, and prostitutes on every corner. She had been one of those streetwalkers, though hardly as desperate, seeing as she came out looking like a million bucks even in her dark state in life. A few thugs came out of nowhere, started demanding her services for free, and backed her into a dark alley. Remy warded them off one by one, warning them never to touch her again, lest he blow them sky high. She had thanked him the only way she knew how, starting with a passionate kiss and somehow ending up in bed, and he had savored every moment of it.

He had never seen her again, until now, but this was hardly the same woman from his memory. This woman was dripping with obvious wealth, jewels and silk clothing screaming that a benefactor had done work here. It came as no surprise, for a bombshell body on display for sale was bound to get a bombshell price to match.

She had paused in his doorway, not moving until she was otherwise invited. She seemed to take little mind at his staring, and waited patiently for him to speak first.

"Hello, chere…" his voice cracked under the pressure of his racing heart, his hot veins, and sweating pores. His fingers tingled with the muscle memory of what they had once touched. "A little late for you to be here, ain't it?"

"Usually, I'm right on time no matter where I am," she said with her sweetheart Southern drawl, closing the door behind her without breaking eye contact. He awkwardly shifted around the papers on his desk just to give himself something to think about other than the slit in her dress and how high it went. Then, after he allowed himself have a breather, he let the shock of her pass over him, and set his mind back into the game. He was too good for this distraction. There were too many women out there to let himself get caught in a tizzy over one dame.

"Is dere somethin' I can't help you with dere, belle…?"

She took a seat in one of the two the leather-bound chairs placed before the desk. She leaned forward in the chair, chest presented properly towards him.

"I need your help, sugah," she explained in a low voice. "And I need it bad."

"Before you go any further, let me kindly interrupt," Remy put up a hand to stop her. "Am I to believe that on the day our best detective here gets suspended, a sexy outfit like you shows up to his notoriously hot-blooded partner in a tight little number like that, at this time of night, and I am supposed to suspect nothing?"

She bit her finger thoughtfully.

"The least you can do is enjoy it, hon."

Remy shook it off with a shrug.

"What can I do ya for?"

She cast her eyes downward, a streak of innocence flowing into them a little suddenly.

"Let me stay with you?"

**Please review, tell me what you think!  
Signed,  
RedRogue**


	2. Chapter 2

**X-Men Noir – Chapter 2**

**~RR~**

Jean Grey tightened her coat around herself, staring at the godforsaken house before her. This place was a ghost town, nothing but dust and wind-driven newspapers flying around empty streets. Many of the neighboring buildings were broken down offices, or houses that were long forgotten. This was where Logan, "the Man Who Can't Die", lived.

Jean had been staking out the place since six AM, with no sign assuring her that she even had the right house, or was on the right street, or if there was another living thing around within the mile.

Oh, wait, there was one alley cat picking through garbage in a dark corner. She stood corrected.

She checked the clock. Nine AM now. Only nine? Felt like she had been here for an eternity, not just three hours. She plopped her head on her steering wheel in frustration. Was this journalistic endeavor even worth it? Maybe it really was time to just let sleeping dogs lie.

When she lifted her head up again, she nearly screamed in surprise. Logan had suddenly appeared at her window, smoking his cigar and looking right at her.

"A bit early for you to be stalking me, isn't it, Red?" he asked. She rolled down the window of her car, a bit perturbed he had ruined her ruse of stealth.

"The public has to know what you're doing with your off time," she replied. "Everyone knows you won't stay out of the crossfire for long. Would expect nothing less from a World War veteran. It makes you too restless not to see any action. And I'm going to be right there to catch you when you step back into the spotlight, Logan."

"Always nice to meet a fan," Logan snorted, then took another puff of his hellishly strong smelling cigar. "How's the golden boyfriend these days?"

"Busy," she replied curtly. "They say he's going to be District Attorney soon. Now do me a favor and smile for the camera…"

Jean pulled the device from nowhere and the flash blinded him in an instant.

"I broke the camera of the last kid who tried pulling that on me," Logan warned, then doused his cigar on the roof of her vehicle. "I'll let you have a free pass just this once because I like you, but don't ever do that again."

"Tell me where you're going."

"Why? You're just going to follow me anyway. Why don't ya just hop in and save yourself the gas?"

"I'd rather stick to my own mode of transportation, thank you," Jean replied without hesitation, crossing her arms in the frustration of knowing where this was heading.

"Afraid the boy might get jealous?"

"Your advances are about as subtle as a gun, Logan, he has every right to be."

"Yes, especially since you are always the one to volunteer yourself to cover my story," Logan shot back, then snorted in a huff, and headed over to his rusty old pick-up.

Upon slamming the door after himself, and coaxing the old weary engine to turn over, he headed out. It was more than a few miles driving, past the main town and into the upper scale housing districts, past the tall office buildings where the rich men got richer, and into a strange, more untouched part of town which was home to many boarding houses and small, private schools exclusive to those who could afford it. Logan pulled over in front of one with a tall brick and iron fence, overrun with vines and flowers. Seemed a pleasant enough place, where crime was truly scarce. So, why was he here? Jean pulled up and parked behind him, and got out with the intention of asking him that very question. She proceeded to help herself to his passenger's seat at last, and pulled out her small notebook.

"What are we doing here?"

"I got a tip."

"Concerning?"

Logan didn't answer, and Jean frowned. She heard a distant bell ring, and it wasn't long before young girls began to exit out the gates in packs. Dozens of teens, maybe in high-school age, wearing matching plaid skirts and crested white shirts. Some had bows in their hair, or hats.

Logan pointed a finger at one in particular. Jean recognized her before Logan could say it.

"That's Kitty Pryde…" Jean said in confusion. "Why are we spying on the Mayor's daughter?"

"I told you, I got a tip," Logan retorted.

"What, that she was going to hold up a general store?" Jean scoffed. "What could that girl possibly do that would merit your overqualified attentions? Wait… You're not a pervert are you?"

Logan gave her a sideways staredown, not even dignifying that with a response. Only Jean could get away with that kind of insolent behavior, but she knew even she was treading on thin ice.

"So, why are we following her?" Jean asked, mostly to diffuse some tension.

"Do you remember that Asian lady that was with that rich kid Worthington at that ritzy fundraiser shindig last month?"

"You mean his _wife_? Elizabeth?"

"And that African woman that was a freed slave and adopted by that college Professor uptown? Raised a big scandal for a while?"

"Yes, what about them?"

"They've all vanished into thin air, like smoke. I got a tip that this girl might be next and I think he's absolutely right. This girl is surrounded by walls and a hundred witnesses around here, and security detail around her father when she's home. If someone was going to make her disappear, the trip from school to her home would be their best shot. My partner was supposed to be watching her, but for some reason I haven't been able to reach him either. So, I decided to come instead."

"Only as a concerned citizen, of course," Jean smirked. Jean watched Kitty, their "City's Most Treasured Sweetheart," as headlines called her. She was certainly a doll in person too, laughing with her friends, blue eyes wide with her age's naivety, and chocolate hair flying in the fall winds. She had no fathom of danger upon her.

Then all at once, it happened. A large car appeared and screeched to a halt beside her, and a giant of a man stepped out, grabbing the girl as she screamed, and her scream made the other girls shriek in panic, scattering like roaches under a light. Logan was barreling towards the scene in an instant, before Jean could even regain her senses, but he was having a hard time avoiding the girls rioting and screeching past. Luckily, another hero for Katherine dropped from a tree onto the giant's back, a knife in hand and driving it straight into his left shoulder. Jean could barely catch a face through the fast movement, but she had seen enough headlines long enough to know the name of this guy. "The Night Crawler", a vigilante who liked to creep around dark corners and seemingly vanish after his work was through. The word on the street was that he was a German, embarrassed for what his country was doing and set on proving his worth here in America. It was a short lived attempt by this scrawny little hero, though, as the much larger opponent threw him like a rag doll into the nearest brick wall, and he was immediately unconscious. His efforts were not all in vain, though, as the giant's distraction with the blade in his tricep allowed Logan to shove Kitty out of his reach and put in a few punches of his own.

Jean could only marvel at the bravery, trying to take a good picture, and feeling otherwise useless to the dangerous situation upon them. She tried starting Logan's car, in maybe an attempt to run this enemy over, but once again, the truck heaved in protest and refused to turn over.

The new knife the giant had obtained proved to be the true upper hand, as he finally found a way to drive it into Logan's side, making him only grunt and drop to the ground in a heap. Kitty was grabbed once more, even upon such a head start.

"No!" Jean yelled, abandoning her efforts with the truck and running after the large man. "Stop!"

She found herself face-to-face with this humungous specimen of a man, whose silver eyes sparkled with sorrow, almost like an apology to her.

"Watch out," his thick Russian accent spoke out. "For if you speak of this, you are next, Jean Grey."

He reached for her camera and she could only let him as he dropped it onto the ground and stomped it underfoot. She made no further attempt at stopping him, as he scooted Kitty into the seat next to his, got in his car, and drove off. She was too paralyzed with fear.

**~RR~**

It's a bright night on Main Street. A group of men linger around the entrance, where a tall bouncer lets them pass. The fedora and trench coat-clad group of men enter into a bright casino building. An older man is leading a taller, scruffier one to the back, past the ladies selling cigarettes, and green tables of poker players, along with a center stage of girl dancers with high kicks. Through the backstage and hallways they reach an office, bearing the name Mr. Lensherr.

The scruffy man enters, now seen to roughly push the man next to him through, slamming his face into the desk inside. The scruffier individual takes off his hat respectfully as he holds the neck of the weaker man with his face being pressed into fine oak, before the Boss, who seemed busy writing something down. The Boss was an older man, though hardly worn individual save for the dark circles around his piercing blue eyes, and solid gray hair. He wore a pinstriped suit of black, with a purple shirt and red tie that Remy had always thought looked ridiculous for a man of his position.

He takes many moments to not speak, so Remy waited patiently, taking in the office around him. It was wall to wall shelves of books, with everything from fables to ordinates of the law. The desk was made to look large and ominous, though Remy had dealt with many of his kind before, and was hardly intimidated. The man he was holding groaned in pain.

Finally, Mr. Lensherr took off his glasses and put them on the desk, along with his pen. He examined Remy closely, while he simply gave a confident smirk in return.

"So, you're the Guild member sent to me by Mr. Essex," Mr. Lensherr observed, leaning back in his chair. He had a very soothing, yet commanding voice, like a strict grandfatherly figure. "You came very highly recommended by Nathaniel, who happens to be a good friend of my Brotherhood. I've been expecting you."

"He sends his regards, good sir," Remy said, his Cajun accent dripping through his words. He flashed a fan of cards at the man and proceeding to flick them through his fingers. "A gift, of service to a friend. We finally caught the German Shadow, and thought you might want to end him yourself."

"Yes, I see…" Mr. Lensherr leaned forward now in his seat, to examine the brutalized man with a cheek to his desk. "You are the man they say can disappear. You have killed quite a few of my men, Mr. Wagner."

"Sir, I have only hurt those who have brought hurt to others…" he pleaded. "I meant no disruption to anyone, simply justice."

"Now that I can hear your accent in person, I know the rumors to be true, that you are a German. And I do hate Germans. Tell Mr. Essex that I thank him for his kind gesture, Mr. LeBeau. We will handle him from here. Now if you would both excuse me, I have a lot of work to catch up on, you understand. Mr. Allerdyce will show you around. Enjoy the place, on the house, of course."

"Much appreciated, _mon ami_," Remy nodded and took his leave, as the door was held open for him by a much younger man than had led him in. A blonder boy, in his late twenties, no doubt, a simple rookie to wait on the Boss's hand and foot. The German vigilante was taken in another direction, much to his dismay, though Remy hardly paid him any mind.

"John," the blond boy introduced himself, with no cordial offering of a hand to shake, just a nod. John opened a door at the end of the hall, and Remy was blitzed back to the cold heart of the casino. John had to raise his voice a bit to talk over the music and clatter of the bustling business.

"Hear that you're a bit of a card shark. The tables at the back are the honest ones, but you should really have a drink and see the show first."

Remy obliged and took a seat with John at a table in front of the stage. The song had just ended, and the music died. The curtain closed after the can-can girls, and the lights soon dimmed. Then, he noticed that Mr. Lensherr was also just taking a seat several tables down. Remy leaned over to John to point and whisper:

"I thought he had work to catch up on?"

John looked over and to see the Boss, and simply shrugged back.

"He never misses Rogue."

A spot was put on the center of the curtain, where it was to part again. Simply a leg emerged, and with it an eruption of whistles and hollers. The rest of the woman followed, and Remy swore under his breath at the sight, feeling like his eyes had not been ready for such a blitz.

It was her again. She sure knew how to turn up when he least expected her to. He had no idea when she said not hours before at his apartment that she had to leave for work, that _this_ is what she meant. Remy clutched the spot where his heart should have been, had it not stopped and fell displaced within the abyss of his chest.

"Yeah, she's a hot one, ain't she? Well, you better roll that tongue back in, partner," John warned. "Or it might get cut off. She belongs to the Boss… which means she is absolutely _untouchable_."

Remy sighed and shook his head at his awful fortune. He made a note not to try his hand at the tables, not with this foul twist of luck. He felt it time to reassess his situation, maybe think about what might happen if cards kept rolling in bad.

Remy motioned over to the oversized specimen of a man standing near Erik, looking rather somber.

"Dat one dere, what's his arrangement?"

"Oh, Rasputin? That's what you should call the kind of trouble you'll be facing if you make any wrong moves. I hear he can punch a man's face into the back of his head."

"Hmm," Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Got a firm grasp on the picture now, I t'ink…"

**~RR~**

**Please review!  
-RedRogue**


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